Game on Granny!

While visiting Anna last weekend, Dave and I rode the Chuckanut Metric Century, one of the loops in the Chuckanut Century Challenge. I had been looking forward to this ride for weeks, and I couldn't wait to ride the roads Dave used to ride while a student at Western.  I couldn't wait to wind along Chuckanut Drive under skies of blue.  I couldn't wait to see the beautiful, dark waters of Bellingham Bay.  I couldn't wait to ride through the lush farms and gardens of Whatcom County.  

But when Sunday dawned, gray and foggy, (not to mention with a significant chance of rain, thunder, and lightning in the forecast) I knew my dreams of riding through beautiful scenery would not be coming true.  Instead, we rolled along Chuckanut,  seeing nothing beyond the trees but thick, foggy, pea soup.  And no one needs me to tell them what that looks like.  How there is no beginning or end.  No top or bottom.  Just a wall of gray, that envelops everything it comes in contact with.

And as for those beautiful farms I'd been dreaming of, well, all I saw were huge, wet bundles of hay wrapped in white plastic, horses wearing jackets to keep off the cool, damp air, and sunflowers, in every stage of life and death. But mostly death.  Sadly, I also saw my very first veal farm.

I did not see (or hear) the calves which were housed in these ventilated boxes that looked no bigger than large dog crates, so I am hoping they were just sleeping.  As comfortably as a cow in a dog crate can sleep.  I did, however, re-vow that I would never EVER eat veal.  And not because I'm one of those tree-hugging, card-carrying members of PETA, because I am not.  I am, however, a sensible, responsible, animal loving, animal eater who knows that cows should not live in dog crates. Just like I know that chickens should not be packed, like sardines, into cages that keep them from ever seeing the light of day.  But this post isn't about food production, or farming; it's about bicycling.  So I'll hop off my high horse now. Thank you for listening.  

And so we pedaled on.  Until it started to rain--a lot! Until I got soaked to the bone.  Until I got hungry--extremely hungry!  Hungrier than I have ever been on a ride.  Until we were only half-way done.  

So, up to this point, the ride hadn't gone quite as planned.  But was it a complete bust?  Absolutely not! It just got better.

At mile 47 we, finally, reached the food stop.  But, since I also had to REALLY go to the bathroom, I detoured past the food table and headed for the honey bucket.  Unfortunately, while trying to take care of business, remove my gloves, all while avoiding the seat, I realized there was NO HAND SANITIZER! This bothered me more than the rain.  Thus, I had no choice but to clean my hands, as well as I could, with my gloves.  (My wet, muddy gloves) 

After thanking the volunteers for standing out in the cold just so we silly bike riders could get something to eat, I gingerly grabbed one peanut-buttered-bagel.  No need to spread my germs to the other riders.  But one bagel wasn't enough.  So I wolfed down a second,  got back on my bike, and headed for Bow Hill.  And this is where it really gets better.

You see, as I was pedaling up Bow Hill (very steep Bow Hill) I came up behind Granny.  Granny was making steady progress ahead of me, cruising along in her neon, yellow jacket and shower-cap-covered helmet.   As I passed her, I offered up my usual, friendly good-morning-greeting.  That's when I noticed the RAMROD reflective tape she had wrapped around her bike.  In case you have never heard of RAMROD, it stands for Ride Around Mt. Rainier in One Day.  And it's brutal.  Or so I hear.  From Dave.  

But I chose to ignore those yellow strips of tape and kept going.  My legs, on the other hand, felt the pressure and decided this would be a good point to simply die.  So just as I crept over the top of the hill,  Granny passed ME and through a smile that revealed absolutely no signs of fatigue said,  "well that warmed me up!" And then she was gone!  Gone from me.  Gone from Dave.  Just gone.  A little, yellow speck disappearing down the road. 

And I was crushed.  Literally and figuratively.  

As I caught up to Dave, I asked him how old he thought she was.  My fragile ego was already showing signs of distress.  

He said, "I don't know.  It doesn't matter.  She's ridden RAMROD though, she's tough. Besides, she's  retired, she probably rides every day."  His attempts to make me feel better were not working.  

So I watched her go.  And go and go.  And then, I thought, enough watching. This old lady was NOT going to beat me to the finish line!  Determined not to let her out of my sights, I hunkered down and gave it my all. And that, my friends, is how the last twenty-two miles of The Chuckanut Century Challenge changed from a ride to a race.

A race that had only two competitors.  But two is all it takes to make up a race, right?  Who cares if one of them doesn't even know she's racing!  A race that kept my heart beating, my legs pumping, and my stubborn streak growing with every passing mile.

Later, as I turned onto Old Samish, in the lead, I thought I had it in the bag.  I was going to win this thing!--This thing that wasn't even a race.  But then she passed us again!  Sitting on some old dude's wheel!  What is it with these old folks!  Their calves look like rocks!  They pass by me like an adult passing a child who's in the way.  And they don't even appear to be breathing hard.  Whilst I was feeling every single heart beat.  Whilst the side-stitch in my right side was telling me that I hadn't taken in enough fluids!  Whilst I was sweating in places that should never feel sweat! (Don't you just love getting to use words like whilst?)

"Oh, I should just let her have it," I joked to Dave.  

"Have what?" he said.  He was totally bursting my bubble.   Nor was he going out front to help me make my way back up to her.  No.  If I wanted to win this thing, this thing that wasn't even a race, it was going to be on my own.  Dave knew it.  I knew it.  Even Granny knew it.  And as she got down into her drops on the next little hill, (I kid you not) she proved it to me.  Well so be it.  Game on Granny!

As you can see, I had no choice at this point.  A challenge had been made.  So I put OB into gear, and pedaled right by her.  I didn't even look at her. I was afraid she'd be smiling--or worse--laughing at me, for being such a silly little girl.  A silly little girl with a big ego.  And I didn't look back--not once.  With Dave on my wheel, and about ten miles to go, I pedaled as fast and as hard as I could.  Around the corners, up the hills, past other cyclists just finishing their leisurely ride.  Until I reached Fairhaven and it's stoplights.  But, unlike The Weather Gods, who had been against me earlier in the morning, The Stoplight Gods were on my side.  And they proved it by keeping those lights nice and green all the way to downtown Bellingham.  All the way to the Boundary Bay Brewery, where the earlier finishers (the real winners) were already drinking beer and eating burgers.  And all the way to the van where I promptly dismounted, stopped my Garmin at 69.66 miles and smiled at Dave.  He just shook his head. 

As I turned to look behind me, he said, "she's not there.  You dropped her like a bad habit."

But his words didn't seem to validate my victory.  They just made me feel bad....for a second.

Good game Granny!
You are a rock star!